


Too Many Twists and Turns

by Nevanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5 Things, Manipulation, Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Five times that Helen tried to befriend the staff of the Magnus Institute.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 21





	Too Many Twists and Turns

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Tera for requesting this fic and doing her part to fight the Desolation, and thanks to alliedwolves for beta reading!

Basira knows better than to wander too deep into the tunnels, especially on her own. The first time she set foot inside the Magnus Institute, she was responding to a call about a human corpse that one of the staff had discovered below the Archives, along with the bodies of the countless worms that had infested the building. And more than one of her new colleagues -- or fellow hostages, as Martin put it -- have mentioned how easy it is to lose one’s way among the twisting corridors and identical doors.

She hadn’t expected to hear one of those doors open behind her.

When Basira turns around slowly, the woman -- or what appears to be a woman -- greets her with a peppy wave and a dazzling smile. Her pantsuit is a bright turquoise, but that isn’t what makes it uncomfortable to look at her directly. “A little birdie told me we’d brought in some new faces!” she exclaims. “Perhaps I should introduce myself…”

“I already know,” Basira interrupts. “Jon let me hear the tapes. You’re Helen Richardson, aren’t you?”

The grin widens. “I’m whatever is left of her, at least.”

“And how much is that?” Basira asks.

“You mean, when does a monster stop being a  _ person _ ?” The grin dims slightly. “Oh, you  _ do _ ask the interesting questions.”

“I wasn’t asking…” But  _ hasn’t _ she wondered that, since the first time she heard the growl rise in her partner’s throat? 

“You and the Archivist, both,” Helen (it’s as good a name as any) continues, folding her arms to mimic Basira’s posture. “But you and I have something in common, too: we both opened doors that we should have left shut, and we certainly never planned to end up here.”

Basira scowls. “I made my choice.”

“And whatever else you might say about that choice -- which I’m sure you made for the  _ best _ possible reasons -- it did give you access to all the knowledge that a bookworm could desire.” Helen twirls in a circle. Her suit has changed to a shiny violet and green floral pattern. “Not to mention a chance to save the whole world from a  _ most _ disagreeable fate.”

“Do  _ you _ want us to save it?” Basira has so many more questions, but that one slips out first.

“Well, I certainly don’t want it to belong to the Stranger,” Helen replies. “Let’s chat again soon, shall we?”

Basira has to make herself walk away, and has to convince herself that she won’t seek out Helen again unless there’s something else that she truly, undeniably, needs to  _ know _ .

\--

The Distortion is, by definition, elusive. Elias knows when its doors open within the Institute, and he can see its manifestations through his employees’ eyes, but no attempt to delve into whatever passes for its consciousness has ever yielded coherent results.

Its static fills the silent lobby of the Institute. “The world might end tomorrow, and you’ve spent the evening buried in paperwork!” trills a voice that is not quite Helen Richardson’s. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

“There is always a chance that the world ‘might’ end tomorrow,” Elias remarks. “If you’ve chosen this moment to drag me into your tunnels, I’ll warn you that the attempt will be much more unpleasant for you than for me.”

“ _ Michael _ wanted revenge against the Eye and its followers,” the Distortion reminds him. “I don’t share his goals.”

“I’m not convinced that you share  _ ours _ , either.” Helen already played her part, well before she was… subsumed, but Elias knows better than to confuse the  _ shape _ of the Spiral with its essence.

“I  _ did _ return your Archivist in one piece.” Its lipsticked mouth pouts. “Even if you were planning to throw him right back into the Circus. A fine show of gratitude.”

“He was determined to stop the Unknowing with or without my involvement.” This is true. Even in the presence of deception given form, Elias can speak of Jonathan Sims’ stubbornness, with absolute certainty.

“But it works out in your favor, either way,” the Distortion counters. “And you haven’t tried to be rid of  _ me _ yet, so perhaps I have a place in your schemes, too, whatever they might be.”

\--

“He’s come back, you know.”

Martin looks up from his computer screen to see Helen smiling down at him. “Peter told me,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “He wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t…”

“...dash into the arms of your newly reawakened beloved?” Helen flutters her eyelashes.

“Not exactly.” She places her hands on her hips. The pink and chartreuse stripes on her jacket almost seemed to glow, and Martin glances away. His throat tightens at the thought of Jon waking up alone in his hospital room, returning to the Archives to the news of Tim’s death and the hostility of the other survivors. “But… all right, close enough.”

“And what did you tell the good captain?”

“That I had -- that I  _ have _ more self-control than that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Helen replies. “You did tend to the Archivist’s needs for two years, without acting on your feelings or expecting him to return them…”

The words summon the memory of Elias’s mocking disbelief at  _ such loyalty to someone who really treats you very badly… _ “What’s your point?” Martin snaps. 

“Sorry, darling.” Helen’s expression shimmers from delight into concern. “I didn’t mean to reopen old wounds. I just meant that, unlike  _ some _ of your colleagues, I’ve always  _ admired _ your devotion. You’ll need it, to follow the path that Peter’s laid out for you. And if the loneliness ever weighs on you too much, I won’t be far away.”

“Talking to people sort of defeats our purpose,” Martin points out.

The figure on the other side of the desk fades before her voice does. “It’s so cute that you think I’m  _ people _ .” 

Elias’s -- Peter’s -- office is suddenly just a little bit colder than it was before, and when Martin asks, “So what does that make Jon, now?” he’s almost sure that nobody is listening.

\--

“I assumed you’d be on your way out the door.” Helen perches on the desk that used to be Martin’s. “Didn’t Basira invite you out for drinks? I thought she was one of your only friends.” She uncrosses and re-crosses her very, very long legs. “Or maybe you’re not keen on another lecture about heraldry -- or whatever she’s reading about this week -- while you’re trying to drown your sorrows.”

“Not exactly,” Melanie protests. She almost smiles (which she hasn’t done in months) until she thinks of the unanswered texts from Georgie, full of concern that sets her teeth on edge. Then she thinks of the conversations that have stopped as soon as she walked into the Archives. “The way she’s looked at me, these past few weeks -- her and Jon, both -- makes me feel like…”

“Like you’re a  _ problem _ that they need to deal with?” Helen leans forward. “A bit of annoying grit in the eye?”

“Something like that,” Melanie replies, although she’s more than happy to make things as difficult for the Eye as possible.

“And what would you do if that were true?” Helen asks.

Melanie isn’t always sure why she’s grateful for Helen’s company -- they probably wouldn’t have gotten on if they’d met outside of the Institute -- but Helen knows what it’s like to be desperately, impossibly trapped, and to do whatever she can in order to escape. Melanie can’t open magic doors or turn her hands into claws, but since the last attack on the Institute, she usually has a knife within reach. “If they expect me to make trouble for them,” she snarls, “I’ll give them what they want.”

\--

Each room is cold and wrapped in fog, and while most are empty, Jon can glimpse a few hollow-eyed figures hunched in corners or peering out from within mirrors. He Knows exactly why and how they ended up in this domain, even after the details of their lives have faded from their own minds.

Is Martin behind one of these doors? Is he losing himself, and will he even understand that it’s happening? The Eye could tell Jon this, down to every horrifying detail, if he let it. Instead, he steels himself and flings open another door.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Helen exclaims. She doesn’t flinch from Jon’s glare. “Oh, is this a bad time?”

“Compared to what?” Jon asks through clenched teeth. “The rollicking  _ good _ times that we’ve had since the apocalypse?”

Helen leans against the doorframe. “Well, at least  _ I’m _ willing to admit how much fun this new world can be!”

“Noted,” Jon says. “Now, if you’re not going to help me find Martin, then I’d appreciate it if you leave me--”

“I  _ did _ wonder where your other half got off to!” Helen interrupts. “I thought you didn’t want to trudge along without each other. It wasn’t a lovers’ tiff, was it? I’m sure you’ll patch it up sooner or later. I suggest bringing him flowers; there’s a  _ lovely _ garden not too far from here…”

“Firstly, I doubt that he’d see the beauty in a garden of the Flesh; and secondly, we didn’t quarrel. I just...” Jon knows how lucky he was to have found Martin in the Lonely  _ once _ , let alone a second time, when he can’t blame Jonah Magnus or Peter Lukas or anything other than his own carelessness. “We just got separated.”

Helen blinks. “And your ‘Archivision’ hasn’t picked him up?”

Jon is pretty sure that he should just keep walking. “I promised that I would restrain myself from Knowing,” he explains instead. “From focusing the Eye on him.”

“I cannot  _ believe _ you,” Helen groans. “If you can’t even remove the stick from your arse and use a tiny bit of your power when your dearest sugar crumpet’s life and mind are at stake, then I have to wonder if anything or  _ anyone _ matters more than the uptight little rules that you’ve made up for yourself.”

“Of course he matters to me,” Jon insists. “But if I find him, and he hates me for it…”

“Hates you?” Helen echoes. “More than you’ll hate yourself if you  _ can _ save him from an eternal foggy oblivion, and are so busy dithering that you miss your chance?”

Jon almost objects that it might  _ not _ be eternal, if he can find a way to turn the world back, but then he remembers how long it took Martin -- with his expertly packed bags, and earnest smiles, and gentle hands, and ferocious stubbornness that puts Jon’s to shame -- to convince him to even try.  _ You’re my reason... _

His resolve must show on his face, for Helen says, “That’s what I thought.” She flashes a smile. “Give him an extra kiss for me, when you see him again!” 

Jon is already running, calling Martin’s name and Looking for the faintest trace of him, as her door slams behind him.


End file.
